


Physical Education

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, High School, M/M, Rimming, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Character, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is Coach Quinto's favorite target in gym class. He wishes he didn't like it so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Physical Education

**Author's Note:**

> High school AU with (consensual) sex between an adult and a minor, sex in a school setting, rimming.

"Another set of ten, go! Don't slow down!"

Chris grunted and curled his fingers against his mat, willing himself to make it through another set of push-ups. His biceps trembled with the strain of forty push-ups already done, and stupid Eric on his right and asshole Karl on his left both made it look easy in comparison. Chris liked to play _baseball_ ; he wasn't some kind of muscleman like those two jocks.

The push-ups were getting more difficult to complete with each flex of his arms, and now Coach Quinto was making his way over to Chris' side of the gym. Chris _hated_ when Coach Quinto came over to his side of the gym.

"PINE!"

The loud voice echoed off the gray-green walls of the gymnasium. Chris shut his eyes tightly and ducked his head. Yeah, he _really_ fucking hated when Quinto targeted him. For one main reason.

"Get your butt down!"

Quinto put his hand on Chris' backside and _pushed_. Chris let out an embarrassing noise, somewhere between a grunt and a whimper. Beside him, Eric laughed breathlessly, tearing his way through his current set. Chris felt his cheeks burn, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.

"Coach—"

"Less talk, more push-ups, Pine. Maybe if you concentrate, you'll stop bopping that bubble butt around so much."

Eric snorted out loud at that one. Quinto pushed again, punctuating it with a little pat. Chris exhaled shakily and flexed his muscles to keep his ass down, as instructed. He didn't say another word as Quinto lifted his head and walked away, calling out for another set. And if there was a stirring in Chris' gym sweats—a warm, needy tingle that overtook the pain for one intense moment—well, he tried his best to ignore it. As he always did.

Admittedly, it was getting tougher to ignore the way Quinto made him feel. The coach was always walking around in ridiculously tight t-shirts and too-short shorts that showed off his sick body. He seemed particularly fond of singling Chris out for some reason, roaring his surname across the gymnasium or out on the field, always getting in Chris' personal space. And, yeah, sometimes Quinto was a bit touchy-feely. Chris knew he could tell his parents about it, maybe report the whole thing to the school principal. But even though he hated his role as Quinto's appointed whipping boy, hated the way the other guys laughed at him and added insult to injury, he knew full well of the dark, secret part of him that thrilled at the attention, luxuriated in the sound of his name barked from Quinto's lips, and longed for any ill-advised touch from the buff, gorgeous gym instructor. In a way, he hated the way he felt about Quinto, even more so than the constant harassment itself. It wasn't normal to take pleasure in being humiliated that way. Or was it? Chris simultaneously wanted Quinto to leave him alone and to keep hassling him. The whole thing was confusing and, well...fucking weird.

When Quinto finally put the brakes on his torture routine, the boys all dispersed and Chris took a moment to wipe his sweaty forehead with the back of his wrist. He rubbed his aching arms as he slowly made his way to the locker room. He had a free period after gym, so he didn't have to rush to get showered and changed like the other guys did. Chris ambled into the locker room and made a beeline for his own locker, desperate for the towel and bottle of water inside. His fingers shook slightly as he worked at the combination lock, his entire body trembling from Quinto's workout. He messed up, turning the dial one too many times.

"Shit," Chris hissed, setting the lock back to zero. Then he heard a familiar voice.

"Is that you, Pine?"

Chris looked up, wide-eyed, pausing in his fumblings with the lock. Goddamn, he couldn't even get away from Quinto in the locker room.

"Yes, sir," he said. He nodded faintly and diverted his eyes. "Um, hi."

"Hi." Quinto smirked, his long, oddly slender hands propped on his hips as he walked up to Chris' side. "Don't you have a class to get to?"

Chris tried not to frown openly, looking down at his combination lock again. "Uh. No, I've got free period next."

"Well, all right." Quinto stepped forward, a little too close for comfort. He looked as though he wanted to touch Chris, though that was probably Chris' overactive imagination at work. "Good job out there today," Quinto said. Chris couldn't help a surprised laugh and it stopped Quinto in his tracks. A hint of a smile played on his lips. "Something funny?"

"Yeah, well, I mean...you brutalized me out there, man. I mean, Coach Quinto. Sir."

Quinto laughed this time. "Coach is fine. And I single you out because I see potential in you, Pine. You've gotten a lot stronger over the past two months."

"Oh. Cool. Potential." Chris nodded, his awkward feelings dissipating slightly at the sight of Quinto's bright smile. He started fiddling with the lock again absentmindedly, lining up the arrow with the correct numbers. "So that's why you're always touching my butt."

Quinto froze for a second, his brown eyes wider than usual and his mouth slightly agape. Chris realized the severity of what he'd said and panicked, shaking his head rapidly.

"I mean! I mean...I'm not _accusing_ you of...um. I mean, it's cool. You know? I didn't mean it like that. I actually kinda like it, really. So, you know. Um. Yeah."

He got a wary look from Quinto, who tilted his head but seemed to move just the slightest bit toward Chris. "You...kinda like it," Quinto repeated.

"Well, like—"

"You—"

Chris dropped his lock on the floor with a clatter. "Oh, shit," he mumbled. He looked between Quinto and the lock distractedly and then made the split decision to bend down and pick it up. He barely had his hand on it when he felt an all-too familiar grip on his rear end, Quinto's fingers cupping the rounded swell and hesitating before digging into the flesh.

Chris made that same embarrassing, helpless noise again.

"You like it," Quinto said, his voice low and somewhat raspy now. "Is that what you said, Pine? You like...this?"

Chris bit his lip and held his bent position, despite the protests of his aching muscles. The sound of Quinto's voice, paired with the strong hand gripping his ass, had him half-hard in his fucking gym shorts. "Y-yeah," he admitted.

A loud gust of breath left Chris' lungs as Quinto suddenly pushed him into his locker door. Chris shifted back instinctively but he was pinned by the same hands that taunted him every weekday afternoon, and sometimes during the nights, when he felt too restless and horny to sleep. Quinto pressed his weight forward, his hot breath grazing across Chris' neck. Chris swallowed, overwhelmed by each heavy thump of his own quickened heartbeats as his chest heaved, held snug against the metal door.

The half-hard situation took a sharp swerve into raging boner territory.

"What else would you like?" Quinto murmured in his ear. Chris swallowed, squirming under his hands. He knew his body was weak, after what Quinto had put him through back in the gym, and he couldn't help but relish in the knowledge that in this moment, Quinto was stronger than him and had all the control. His mind swam with a million different possible answers to the question.

"I—I dunno," he whispered. "Something...something else with my ass? I guess?"

Quinto chuckled faintly. "It _is_ a gorgeous ass." He slid one hand over it reverently, propping the other between Chris' shoulder blades to hold him in place. "I'll take any excuse to touch it, if you let me." Chris shuddered when Quinto's hand moved under the waistband of his shorts and groped his bare skin. Quinto dipped a fingertip into the cleft of Chris' ass and a needy groan left Chris' lips. "Will you let me?" Quinto asked, asking permission for...for what? Something awesome, Chris suspected.

"Yeah, shit...oh, my god, anything."

Quinto hesitated, presumably to make sure they were most definitely alone, and then Chris' shorts were around his ankles, the meshed fabric pooled over his sneakers. Chris looked down and saw Quinto on his knees, his strong hands squeezing Chris' thighs. The idea of Quinto on his knees had never even registered in Chris' late-night fantasies, but _fuck_ , nothing he could conjure would ever come close to the real thing. Chris held one palm upon the locker next to his and gasped when Quinto pulled his ass cheeks apart, the cool air a shock to the newly exposed skin. Then, a broad swipe of wet heat—Quinto's fucking _tongue_ , man—right over his asshole, and Chris nearly buckled, scrambling to remain upright. He got another chill when his flushed cock pressed against the metal door, a dizzying contrast to the heat of Quinto's hot mouth on him. The coach buried his entire face in Chris' ass, lightly biting at the swells of his buttocks and licking hungrily at his hole, slicking him everywhere with warm spit and chafing Chris' skin with his stubble.

"Oh, _fuck_." Chris groaned with the first stab of Quinto's tongue inside him. It was getting really difficult to keep his arm propped up. When Quinto moved one of his hands to Chris' lower back, holding him in place, Chris grunted in relief and let both of his arms hang limply at his sides. The least Quinto could do was hold him steady after sapping his strength like this, and it seemed like the coach was more than happy to oblige.

Chris' hips seemed to rock forward on their own volition as Quinto tongue-fucked him deeper, his cock sliding back and forth against the cool, gray metal before him. He widened his stance and pushed back against Quinto's mouth. Quinto moaned his approval, pausing briefly to insinuate a fingertip inside Chris' slick entrance. Chris gasped and bucked, clenching around Quinto and then relaxing again, enough for Quinto to slide the entire length of his index finger inside. Then that amazing tongue was back, working side by side with the slippery, moving digit, and Chris' lashes fluttered wildly as the start of an orgasm pooled in his gut. Chris groaned, loud and unabashed as it began to build, thrusting his hips back just as Quinto crooked his finger inside him to stroke that goddamn fucking _amazing_ spot, yes, yes, _yes_ —and it was all over, Chris' come splashing against the locker door in thick, wet spurts, his sore muscles trembling and twitching under Quinto's hands and mouth.

"Shit, Pine," Chris heard distantly. Quinto pulled Chris' shorts, the elastic settling back around his waist. Chris let Quinto draw him back to rest against his chest and watched dazedly as the coach grabbed the towel from inside the locker and wiped the door clean. Quinto's insistent erection pushed against Chris' ass all the while. "Period's only halfway over," Quinto said. "Got some time to see the inside of my office?"

Chris pictured himself bent over Quinto's desk, on the receiving end of even more ass-centered attention, and couldn't help a lazy grin.

"All the time in the world," he said.


End file.
